


Under His Nose

by ThatSameSong



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Could Be Canon, Creepy Mark Jefferson, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSameSong/pseuds/ThatSameSong
Summary: Nathan is tired of being around people who won't even make the effort to truly understand him.  He's either their problem or their puppet.  But Nathan has finally found someone who gets him.  Someone willing to tell him exactly what he wants to hear, even if Nathan himself doesn't know he wants to hear it.  For the first time in his messed up life, Nathan might actually be happy.





	Under His Nose

Nathan knew it was wrong. But then again, wasn't that the best part? The explicit knowledge that he was doing something so reprehensible that even the almighty Sean Prescott would have condemned him.

He didn't care. Fuck Sean Prescott, fuck Blackwell Academy, fuck everyone. They were ants compared to Nathan. Ants compared to Nathan's destiny. Not that Nathan gave a shit about destiny anymore. His loony dad might have believed in all that bullshit, but Nathan liked to think he was above prophecies and fate. He was a fucking Prescott, for god's sake.

There was only one man in all of Arcadia Bay who understood him. Only one man who actually cared about Nathan. Not Nathan Prescott, just Nathan.

“Can you believe that bitch?” Nathan spat.

He was shaking with rage. He thought he'd gotten over it, but that was foolish. There was no real getting-over-it when it came to Nathan. He held onto things, kept them balled up in his fist for months or even years. The doctors told him this was bad, but Nathan knew they were all liars. Who were they to tell him when to let things go?

Mr. Jefferson—Mark—smiled. He knew better than to interject when Nathan was in one of his rages. It was easier just to let him unwind like a spool of thread. It was actually kind of funny, watching this pathetic boy huff and puff about whoever or whatever had wronged him that week.

“Threatening _me_ ,” Nathan went on. “ _Me_! Doesn't that slut know my family owns this fucking town? But she has the balls to act like I'm some punk kid.”

Mark stroked Nathan's leg, his smile faint and sympathetic. His response could have been rehearsed. In actuality, it was something he'd developed from months of dealing with Nathan's outbursts and rants. Just a little smile and some nodding at appropriate intervals. It was like memorizing a pet's feeding schedule.

At Mark's soft touch, Nathan's anger waned slightly. He was still outraged over his encounter with Chloe less than a week ago, but Mark's tenderness made it a little better. He could tell that Mark was really listening to him, really hearing him. Not like those fucking doctors who kept prescribing him meds and trying to tell him he needed to calm down.

“And then Max,” Nathan continued. “Fucking Max and her bitch Warren. Who the fuck do they think they are?”

Mark sensed it was time for him to say something. He adopted his usual soothing tone, a tone of voice most commonly used to calm children who were throwing tantrums. But that was pretty much Nathan on a good day, wasn't it? A spoiled rich kid throwing a tantrum because he realized he didn't have the biggest dick on the playground.

“Max thinks she's a photographer,” said Mark.

He laughed.

“Can you believe it?” he said. “She actually thinks people like her selfies.”

He gently stroked the side of Nathan's face. He liked the way Nathan's cheeks reddened at his touch. In his own way, Nathan was so vulnerable. Pure almost. But not pure enough. No, a man like Nathan Prescott would never be pure enough for Mark Jefferson.

“But she's not a visionary like you,” said Mark. “Next to you, Max is just another poser. That's why she's been getting in your face lately. She knows she'll never be as talented as you.”

Nathan could feel something rising inside of him. It was a feeling he'd been trying to ignore for the longest time. But sometimes he just didn't care. From the very beginning, he'd wanted everything Mark could give him. And Mark had given him all of it without Nathan even having to ask.

“Yeah,” he said. “That whore doesn't know who she's messing with.”

Mark leaned close, his hot breath brushing against Nathan's face as he spoke.

“No, she doesn't,” he said.

He pressed his lips to Nathan's. Mark could feel Nathan's heart pumping, could almost hear the rush of Nathan's blood. With every frantic pulse of Nathan's heart, it was like they were both falling. Mark balled his fist into Nathan's hair, drawing him deeper into the inferno. He finally had him. Nathan Prescott was his.

Nathan let himself be taken, like a fly tumbling into a spider's web. Just like all those times before, there was only that fleeting hesitation before Nathan gave his body and soul to the wonderful Mark Jefferson. But this was different. This was more intimate, less bittersweet. This felt like something Nathan had never experienced with anyone. And he wanted it. All of it. He wanted all of Mark Jefferson.

Mark could feel Nathan's reluctance—whatever was left—burning away. If he could, he would have laughed. Of course this was all it took to break down Nathan's walls. They weren't even walls. They were more like squishy foam barriers meant to protect Nathan from a world he considered cruel and unfair. Mark had fun poking holes in those barriers and watching as Nathan's emotions spilled out.

He withdrew from the kiss. Best to keep Nathan needy. Sean Prescott had been doing it all wrong. He thought it was enough just to be emotionally distant. But Mark knew there was more to it than that. Nathan was a complex guy. There were ways to make him compliant and submissive, ways that Mark Jefferson had figured out five minutes into his first private conversation with Nathan. Sean Prescott simply lacked a creative mind.

Nathan took a moment to recover. Kissing Mark Jefferson was its own kind of high. Better than any drug he'd ever taken. When they fucked, it was dirty and primal. Nathan loved the rush it gave him, loved the pain, loved how his brain went fuzzy as the drugs mixed with his own ecstasy. But the kiss was something else. It gave Nathan all those feelings, but without the subtle disconnection from his own mind. He was there, living inside a part of himself that Mark had nurtured.

Mark stroked Nathan's hair. He could say a lot of things about Nathan as a person. Spoiled, filled with childish anger, completely wrapped up in this false image of himself. But as many negative things as Mark could list, he couldn't say Nathan didn't have some admirable qualities. For one thing, Nathan gave some amazing head. Almost better than Rachel Amber.

“She'll never be you,” said Mark. “She lacks the drive. It's a good thing I'm here to guide you, isn't it?”

Nathan almost started ranting again at the mention of Max, but he let himself be soothed by Mark's gentle touch. Out of all the people at Blackwell Academy he expected to get in his face, Max wasn't even on the list. Good thing Mark was there to remind him that Max wasn't even worth his ire.

Mark talked about Max a lot. He always seemed to have something to say about her, be it trashing her selfies or trying to figure out how someone like her had even ended up at Blackwell Academy. He constantly talked about how Max Caulfield didn't belong at the school, how she was wasting his time just by being in his class. Nathan loved Mark's passion. It seemed to Nathan that they both hated Max Caulfield. Maybe that was what had really drawn Nathan to Mark Jefferson in the first place.

“My dad doesn't understand,” said Nathan. “All those crazy doctors keep saying I might be dangerous.”

He laughed. Those so-called professionals didn't even know him. He was dangerous, but not in the way the doctors thought. Nathan was dangerous in the same way every Prescott was dangerous.

Mark gently touched Nathan's cheek and looked into his eyes.

“They're liars,” he said. “Dangerous is just a word they use to dismiss great artists like you. The world is going to treat you like you're a psychopath just because you can see things that everyone else doesn't. You'll get used to it, but you should never accept it.”

Nathan's eyes burned like he was about to cry, but he didn't. He simply stared into Mark's eyes. He had never trusted anyone as much as he trusted Mark Jefferson. Even his father had never given Nathan a straight answer. But Mark? He could never lie to Nathan. Not with those soft honest eyes.

“Are you scared?” said Mark.

Nathan shook his head. He'd been scared once, back when this all began. But now he realized that he'd just been terrified of his own destiny. His real destiny, not that he believed in that stuff. He saw a future so different from what his father had envisioned for him. A future that began with Mark Jefferson's smile.

Mark kissed Nathan's forehead. How ironic. In public, Nathan was a bundle of rage and pride. But behind closed doors, he was as pliable as almost anyone his age. When Mark stripped away the outer layer, Nathan really was no better than Max or Victoria. He had never fallen for Nathan's act.

“Good boy,” said Mark. “You understand that you have a gift.”

He stood up. As much as he would have loved to hang out in Nathan's dorm room, the Vortex Club party was waiting. He had things to do and people to see.

“I'd better get going,” he said.

He smiled. However pathetic he believed Nathan to be, Mark wasn't lying when he said Nathan had a gift. He might have lacked the instincts to let his gift blossom, but it was there. It was just a shame that no one would ever experience the hidden talent that was Nathan Prescott.

As usual, Nathan didn't appreciate being abandoned. He asked Mark where he was going, why he was always leaving him. But instead of coming out angry, the words tumbled mildly from Nathan's lips like flower petals. He'd become somewhat of a lamb in Mark's presence. He knew better than to make demands or question anything Mark told him, lest he be denied the sweet honey that was Mark Jefferson's approval.

Mark ignored the questions. He wanted to leave Nathan dangling one last time. When they met again, maybe Nathan would remember this. Maybe Nathan would finally leave his own mind long enough to realize that it wasn't the doctors or his father who were wrong. Maybe. But Mark doubted it. People like Nathan never learned their lesson. And Mark was fine with that, because he wasn't there to teach stuck-up rich kids why falling in love with their professor was a bad idea.

He left his phone on Nathan's bedside table. He wasn't sure if he did it subconsciously or by accident. It didn't matter. He was out the door before he let himself be bothered by semantics. Mark had bigger stuff on his mind. That stuff technically involved Nathan, but it wasn't quite time yet.

Mark smiled to himself as he walked down the hallway. Empty. Everyone was either at the party or taking advantage of the silence. Blackwell Academy was so predictable.

Nathan certainly had a destiny, but it was neither the one his father wanted or the one Nathan dreamed up for himself. It was something much simpler. In a way, it was freeing. Who knew what would have happened to Nathan if Mark Jefferson hadn't come along? A lot of things, none of them good. Mark liked to think he'd rescued Nathan from a thousand possible bad endings. He didn't really have anything more than a passing and purely academic likeness for Nathan, but the idea made him slightly happy.

Everyone at Blackwell Academy liked to think the Vortex Club was in control. Either the Vortex Club or Sean Prescott. Always behind the scenes, pulling the strings and making the puppets dance. But his time with Nathan had taught Mark a valuable lesson: He was in control. To everyone else, he was just that one cool teacher. But if anyone bothered to pull the curtain back, they would see that Mark Jefferson was the real puppetmaster.

Mark stepped out into the cold night. Even from the front of the boys' dorm, he could hear the pounding music and laughter. The party had already started.

He checked his pocket to make sure Nathan's phone was still there. When Mark realized it was, he smiled. How unfortunate for poor Max Caulfield. It seemed that luck was on his side, not hers.


End file.
